Come What May
by Miki-Spazz
Summary: There was a boy. A very strange, enchanted boy. They say he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye but very wise was he. And then one day, one magic day he passed my way. While we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me: "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return" XMFC Moulin Rouge AU
1. Bohemian Rhapsody

Sooo, somebody on tumblr made the comment that there should be an AU fic of Moulin Rouge with Erik and Charles. And I decided to write it. :B Hopefully I can actually finish a fic for once in my life, considering this is my guilty pleasure movie, and I'm doing it for some very special people. Hope you enjoy it. :)

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1899

A year of science, of progress, of art.

A year of passion.

Charles stepped off the train onto the platform, breathing in a deep heady lungful of Parisian air. This city held so much potential, and as he made his way through the station, he knew he would wring every last drop from it. After all, Professor Xavier was not one to waste time.

Professor. He held the title uncomfortably. One needs students to be a true professor. Besides, his expertise was in science, but his heart was in writing. Though it was full to bursting, his briefcase exaggerated its importance. Most of the papers were blank.

To the center of the city, to the pulse of the Bohemian revolution, to the very heart of love itself. That was where he was headed. Where better to find inspiration than there?

His apartment was worn, but not terrible. His neighbors, boisterous but charming. His view, spectacular. The street below was busy, teeming with people from all walks of life. And up the lane, up the hill, was the Moulin Rouge, where it glittered at night like a temple of diamonds and rubies, a monument to passion.

Charles had just finished setting up his desk and his few belongings when his neighbors started up again. With that singing and the odd sounds he assumed was supposed to be music. Normally he wouldn't mind, keep to his own business and all. But the _lyrics. _They were terrible. No feeling. No sensation or inspiration.

No love.

And then the narcoleptic man fell through his roof.

At least the singing had stopped.

"Monsieur, are you all right?" a man dressed as a nun babbled, bursting . His accent was thick, but understandable. Once the dust had cleared, Charles could get a clear look at his unexpected guests.

"I am Jean-Paul Beaubier," the man introduced himself. He was a tall man with slate grey hair, his steel eyes flashing with a mixture of apology and embarrassment.

"Ah, terribly sorry, but we were rehearsing a play, and Marko here collapsed again. We tried to catching him, but he just doesn't stop, now."

"Is he okay?" a voice called down, and the man yelled back up, "No! He's still out cold."

"But we need to finalize the lines! We're presenting them tonight!" a new voice lamented.

"Those? You're going to present those?" Charles asked nervously, wincing at the memory of the lyrics.

"But of course. It is a play of the century!" the grey man exclaimed, beaming.

"And what is it, exactly?" Charles inquired, unsure of how to tell them gently that their magnificent play was quite possibly the worst thing to ever stumble into his ears.

"It will be nothing if we don't complete the scene and have it ready for tonight!" the voice from above intervened before the man-nun could respond.

"Marko is still out. Where are we going to find someone to read the role of the sensitive young swiss poet goat herder?"

They all turned to Charles, who moments later found himself dressed in lederhosen and surrounded by the oddest people he had ever seen. And everyone was trying to fit the worst songs possible to the strangest sounds to be passed off as music.

"The hills are incarnate with fantastic symphonies!" Marko leaped off the bed screaming, before falling back into a narcoleptic slumber once more.

Nobody could agree on the words, a rising cacophony of voices pounding against Charles' ears. He tried to get his two bits in, but no one seemed to want to listen. The words were climbing in his throat, desperate to escape.

"~The hills are aliiiiiiiiiive. With the sound of muuuuuuussiiiiiiiiiiic.~"

Suddenly everyone froze. Jean-Paul turned to face Charles, awe splashed across his face.

"~With songs they have sung, for a thousand yeeeeeeeeaars.~"

The words poured forth, as easy as breathing. This was Bohemia. Charles could feel his mind spreading, seeking out the love and passion of Montmartre. His attempts to keep it under wraps was failing, but he didn't care.

"We should take him to the financier tonight," they were whispering amongst each other, not that he heard them with his ears exactly. "He'll convince the Gilded Prince with his poetry, and then Stryker will have to accept him!"

"We're going to make Spectacular Spectacular!"

"It will be the play of the century!"

They turned to Charles, cheering as they poured another round of absinthe. That night, Charles found himself in the narcoleptic man's best suit and tasting his first glass of the green alcohol. It burned and distorted and elevated him. His mind exploded open, taking in everyone around him.

He was on his way to the Moulin Rouge, to meet the Gilded Prince.


	2. The Can Can

Even from down the lane, the singing could be heard.

Lights poured out from the doors and Charles could feel the pulsing throb of emotions contained within the walls of the Moulin Rouge, a small smile coming to his lips.

"Once we are inside, I will speak to Stryker and arrange your meeting with Erik," Beaubier murmured as they passed through the first gates, sidling in along with the other gentlemen seeking the pleasures of the night.

"But what am I supposed to do?" Charles asked, concern splashing across his face. Now that they were here, he was suddenly very aware of his lack of a plan.

"Perform your poetry. Make him see the beauty of your words. If you can serenade him, he will convince Stryker that you are the voice of the Bohemian Revolution! The financier will be most pleased, Charles. Everyone will know the magic of your lyrics," Jean-Paul sighed, as though the very memory of Charles' singing melted his heart.

By this point they had managed to find themselves on the dance floor. Colors and sounds were blending and blurring with the leftover absinthe effects, before colliding with the thoughts and swells of consciousness that surrounded Charles.

It was dizzying.

Trying to get a grip on what was happening around him, Charles pulled his mind in, straightening his vision and grounding his feet. He was surprised to find a dancer in front of him, spinning around in a rainbow of bright and almost garish color. The music became clearer, and he could pick out the words. Pulsing beats throbbed with his heart, pulling the words out.

He couldn't help but enjoy himself. Making his way towards the table where the rest of his friends had settled, he could feel the edges of his psyche fraying once more, the atmosphere drawing it out like poison from a wound. There were brighter flecks of minds scattered throughout the crowd, and he couldn't help but gasp.

"There are mutants here!" he half asked, half exclaimed. Jean-Paul nodded, and beamed at him over a glass of champagne.

"Of course. The Moulin Rouge is—"

Beaubier was cut off by the booming voice of Stryker himself, the dancers waiting anxiously.

"GENTLEMEN. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, purveyor of every pleasure and preference!"

The crowd was pulsing once more, the men mingling with the dancers. The Moulin Rouge. Where the rich and powerful cam to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The stark black suits clashed with the luminous colors flashing around the floor, be it dresses or even powers being flung around.

"And now," Stryker murmured, a sudden hush falling over the crowd.

"The Can Can."

The floor cleared instantly. Lines of colorful dancers filled the sudden gap, and the music exploded. Legs flew in the air, and sparks of powers glittered and bedazzled the crowd. Everyone was laughing, and the music was ringing in his ears. He could barely hear what Beaubier was trying to tell him, but he caught the words Erik, tonight, and alone.

Charles' stomach lurched.

By now the Can Can was over, and the last echoes of the music were disappearing. Everyone was quieting down, and Charles could feel the focus of the room beam upwards intently. The hush before was nothing compared to the absolute dead silence now.

The air began to flash, small specks of glitter raining down towards the upturned faces. But they never reached the ground. Now the air was boiling, a sparkling cloud that contorted and flowed above the dance hall.

"The Gilded Prince," Beaubier breathed, and Charles couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath.

He descended through the whirling mass of metal bits, and they coalesced into fluttering cape matched by a shining crown that glimmered as it caught the light. Despite wearing a mask, Charles could make out high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and smoldering green eyes that locked in directly with his.

Gently, carefully, Charles sent out a tendril of thought to try and contact Erik. Something sharp and cold stopped him, and he withdrew quickly, wincing. Beaubier gave him a questioning look, but Charles just waved him off and settled for watching the show.

A woman joined him in the air, suspended by a trapeze and covered in what looked like diamonds. She too locked eyes with Charles, and he realized she was the diamond. Then the cold sharp stabbing thoughts jabbed at him, and he hastily blocked it out. He glared at her, but she had turned away,

Now she and Erik were dancing in midair, his metallic cape swirling around them, and she began to sing.

It went along the lines of girls and diamonds and something, but Charles wasn't listening. He was captivated by the metalbender and his graceful motions through the air. They slowly descended together, and disappeared in the mass of people below. Charles craned his neck to get a look, disappointed at the sudden vanishing of Erik.

Someone else, too, had their attentions directly on Erik, desire and want bleeding through into Charles' psyche. Looking around, he couldn't pinpoint the source, and tried to block it out. But it was strong, and throbbing, increasing in intensity every time Erik came into view.

Finally Charles just had to draw in every strand of thought he had flowing through the crowd for relief, and settled for watching Erik dance and weave his way through the throngs of people. His eyes kept flicking in Charles' direction, and every time he sent a small flutter through Charles' stomach.

Beaubier went to leave, but quickly turned back to borrow Charles' kerchief, waving it haphazardly in his face and blocking his view of the dance floor.

"Pardon me, I need this, excuse moi, terribly sorry," he babbled, now speaking with someone in the booth behind them. Charles could see the dancing pair again, and once more locked eyes with Erik, who was staring at him.

Now he was making his way through the crowds, slowly but surely. Making his way towards Charles. His eyes never left Charles'.

Charles could feel his heart pounding, the sound of rushing blood in his ears drowning out the sound of the woman's singing. She seemed to have picked her plaything for the night, but Erik still had to choose.

He came closer.

And then he was standing right in front of Charles. He bowed ever so slightly, hand extended, his eyes glinting beneath his silver mask.

"Hello," he murmured, a coy smile creeping onto his face.

Charles could only stare breathlessly, unsure of what to do or how to respond. Erik turned to the crowd, everyone becoming antsy and noisy.

"I'm afraid it is gentleman's choice," he apologized, much to the disappointment of the rest of Moulin Rouge's patrons, and he faced Charles once more. Without saying a word, he pulled him to the dance floor, and Charles' heart leaped into his throat.

'We're actually dancing, he's holding me, oh god, he's so warm,' Charles' thoughts babbled in his mind, before he remembered he was here with a job.

"I was h-hoping we could do a p-poetry reading," he said, his voice straining to be heard over the noisy dancers. Erik cocked his head to the side, confused slightly before regaining his usual smirk.

"Oh, of course. I do love a little poetry after dinner."

"Is there somewhere a bit more private we can do it?"

Erik's eyes flashed, and his smirk deepened.

"Of course. Meet me in the elephant after the show."

Suddenly he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Charles stranded. Making his way back to the table, he grinned wildly at Beaubier. Just as he was about to speak the finale began, and they all turned to eagerly watch the spectacle.

Erik and the woman rose into the air, their voices mingling as the music swelled. Just as they reached the peak, Erik shuddered, his metal cape trembling. And then he was falling in a cascade of silver. The crowd gasped, but right before he hit the ground he disappeared into thin air, only a faint puff of red left behind.

"Eyyyyy!" Stryker cheered, clapping frantically. That must have been the finale. Soon everyone else joined in the applause, and the crowd was pumped again.

"I'm afraid you've gone and scared the Queen and her Prince away-" he began, but was interrupted by the sounds of disappointment from the people.

"But I see a lot of lonely dancers out there still!"

The dancing continued once more, and Charles made his way for the exit. He was going to the elephant. He was going to speak his poetry about truth and beauty, and that which he believed in above all else, love.

And they were going to be totally alone.


	3. Your Song

Charles knocked nervously at the door, unsure of what to expect.

He was not prepared for what answered the door. Erik was changed out of his costume, now only wearing pants and a loosely buttoned shirt. His mask was gone, but that only made his eyes and cheek bones more apparent.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Charles entered the room while Erik lingered behind him to shut the door.

"I'm ready for some poetry," he growled into Charles' ear, making him jump.

"How about a little supper?"

Charles twisted his hat nervously in his hand. "I'd rather just get it over and done with."

Staring, Erik set down the champagne bucket with a clank. "Oh."

He lounged onto the bed, sprawled out invitingly. "Why don't you come down here and get it done with then?"

"I prefer to do it standing up." Charles clutched at his now crumpling hat awkwardly.

Erik quirked an eyebrow, and made to get up.

"No, please, sit down. It can be quite long, and I want you to be comfortable."

At this both of Erik's eyebrows rose, but Charles didn't notice.

"It's quite modern, what I do, but I think if you're open you'll be quite pleased."

Erik nonchalantly loosened one of his buttons, revealing more of his skin. Charles looked away suddenly, feeling his face flush instantly. He twirled his hat in his hand, before trying to begin.

"The sky—" he started, as his eyes drifted back to Erik, who was now splayed on the sheets with yet another button loosened.

"The sky. . . " Charles struggled to continue his train of thought. Turning, he took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind.

"Is everything all right?" Erik asked, and Charles turned back sheepishly.

"Sometimes, it just takes a little while for, you know. . . inspiration," he mumbled, and Erik rose off the bed.

"Oh, I see. A little trouble, then? Let me inspire you."

He knelt at Charles' feet, before the belt buckle suddenly came undone and flew the belt off. Smirking, Erik looked up into Charles' eyes.

"Inspired yet?"

Charles could only stammer, before he was pushed back onto the bed. His buttons were undoing themselves, and Erik clambered on top.

"Take me, you want this, don't you?" Erik growled as he tugged at Charles' collar, his body heat radiating into Charles.

"A big boy," he grinned as he tugged on Charles' pants. "I need your poetry, I need it now!"

"Wait, wait! All right!" Charles yelped, rolling off the bed and away from Erik. Panting, Charles looked out the window, trying to calm down. And then the words started to come.

"It's a little bit funny. This feeling inside."

Erik watched Charles pace the carpet, dumbstruck and panting on the bed.

"I'm not one of those who can easily hide. . . . is this okay, is this what you want?" he ended tentatively.

"Oh, poetry. Yes, this is what I want," Erik stretched out, and as Charles began speaking again he thrashed about on the bed.

"Yes, oh, don't stop, yes," he cried, rolling in the blankets with every word Charles said. Charles could only stare, a feeling of both confusion and want mingling in the pit of his stomach. He could win this man over.

"~My gift is my song. . . .and this one's for you. . . ~" he sang gently, barely breathing the words into the night. Erik paused, staring up at him from the floor where he lay flushed and breathless.

"~And you can tell everybody, that this is your song. It may be quite simple, but, now that it's done.~"

Erik watched, enraptured by the words. Charles was staring back at him from the balcony, all his tension and nervousness melting away as he just sang out his heart.

"~Hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words…~"

A small smile began to creep onto Charles' face, driving all other thoughts from Erik's mind. He never moved his eyes from this strange English poet, and was certain something in the air was changing.

"~How wonderful life is, now you're in the world.~"

Now Erik had risen slowly off the floor, and was standing next to Charles. The words kept coming, and Charles couldn't help but grin giddily as he sang. He felt on top of the world, and his thoughts were soaring out into the night.

Every consciousness lit up like a small beacon, dotting the city in a blanket of stars as Charles sang; he felt as though he were flying through the night sky as he sang to this prince, his Prince.

He grabbed Erik's hands and danced out onto the balcony, singing to the moon.

"~And you can tell everybody, that this is your song.~"

Erik was enthralled, his smirk replaced with a genuine smile. Charles could feel the words slowing, the sudden flash of music leaving, but he sang the last few words with every ounce of his being as he drew in closer to Erik.

"~How wonderful life is now you're in the wooooooooorld...~" he grinned at Erik.

"I can't believe it," the paramour breathed. "I'm in love…I'm in love with a young, handsome, talented duke."

"Duke?" Charles breathed.

"Not that the title's important, of course," Erik smirked, wrapping his hands around Charles' shoulders.

"I'm not a duke," Charles whispered back.

"What?"

"I'm a writer."

Erik backed away a step, and stared hard at Charles.

"A writer? What, no no-"

"Well, Beaubier said-"

"Beaubier? No, you're not another one of Beaubier's oh-so-talented-charming-Bohemian-tragically-impoverished protégés?"

Charles shrugged with a small grin. "Well, you might say that-"

"Oh, Beaubier, I'm going to kill him," Erik muttered as he headed for the door, Charles frantically chasing after him.

"But Beaubier said-"

"I need to see the Duke," Erik growled as he waved at the door to rip it open with his powers.

He slammed it shut the second it opened.

"The Duke!" he nearly shouted, startling Charles.


	4. Spectacular Spectacular

Hey there! Thanks for reading this far. I know it couldn't have been easy. Here's a new update, hopefully they will be coming a little more often, and again, thanks for reading. You don't know how much this means to me. Any reviews or comments you have, feel free to leave them! I love reading what people have to say about my writing. :)

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"Duke?"

"Hide! Out the back!" Erik hissed, before turning back to the door as it opened once more. Stryker stumbled in just as Charles ducked down behind Erik's legs in a desperate and painfully stupid attempt to hide from view.

"Are you decent for the Duke?" Stryker asked airily. "Where were you?"

"I was…waiting," Erik grinned forcefully as he slowly edged to the champagne cart in an effort to hide Charles better. This man was going to be a nightmare.

"Dearest Duke, allow me to introduce Monsieur Erik."

A snub nosed man with an ill look about him stood in the doorway, twisting his bowler in his hands. A smirk crossed his face that Charles couldn't help but shudder at.

"Monsieur, how wonderful of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit."

His smirk just grew more crooked and his eyes roved over Erik in a way that his mental projections made Charles reel in his mind faster than he thought possible.

"The pleasure, I fear, will be entirely mine."

The Duke bent forward to place a kiss on the back of Erik's hand, who was still tensed up with Charles cowering not two feet away behind the dinner cart.

"I'll leave you two squirrels to get better acquainted, ta ta," Stryker called merrily from the door as he left.

"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental," the Duke murmured in his nasally voice, as Erik regained his composure and smirked at the man, backing away.

He took the Duke's hat and cane with a provocative jerk and landed on the bed.

"Well, after tonight's peaty exertions on the stage, you must surely be in need of refreshment," the Duke grinned as he reached for the champagne bucket on the dinner cart. The cart where Charles was still crouched, heart pounding and eyes wide as he ducked back down to avoid being seen.

"Don't!" Erik leaped up, a slight panicked tone creeping into his voice, before he caught himself.

"Don't … you … just …love the view," he said breathlessly, waving towards the balcony as he tried to cover his small outburst. The Duke stared at him for a moment with raised eyebrows and a confused look crossing his face, glancing out the balcony as well.

"Charming."

He reached again for the champagne, and Erik did the first thing that came to mind.

Gyrating slightly, Erik sauntered back and forth over the rug while making small sounds.

"I feel like dancing," he announced, adding in a small spin that caught both the Duke's and Charles' attentions. The dancing grew more frantic as Erik strove to keep the Duke's eyes on him. It took all of Charles' willpower to not pop out completely so he could watch, or to touch the man's mind to watch through his eyes.

But he did peek over the top of the cart.

The Duke watched for a small time, growing more and more confused while making small noises to try and interrupt Erik's tirade.

"I should like a glass of champagne," he finally managed to choke out, turning towards the cart once more. Charles ducked back down as Erik immediately stopped dancing and reached out for the bucket but stopped as the Duke's hand grabbed the bottle. No sense in accidentally ripping off his customer's hand. Erik also made a noise that sounded like a small shout that he quickly swallowed and covered with words.

"It's a little bit funny—"

"What is?"

Charles poked his head back up over the cart to stare at Erik questioningly.

"This—"

Charles mouthed the words, not even thinking to use his telepathy at a time like this.

"—feeling inside," Erik breathed, his eyes wide and on the Duke.

"I'm not one of those who can easily …hide," he continued, eyes straying back over to Charles to watch for the lyrics he had just been serenaded with earlier that evening. In his motions, Charles knocked over the candle stick and Erik reached out to catch it with his powers.

The Duke made to turn at the noise while Charles ducked once more, and Erik's reach propelled him to the Duke's feet; there he clung to the pants legs of his tuxedo.

"I don't have much money," he growled, kneeling to look up into the Duke's eyes.

"But if I did, oh, I'd buy a big house where we both could live." He snaked his way up the length of the Duke's body, touching everywhere and making the Duke quiver slightly. Then Erik grabbed at the Duke's knees and yanked them apart, much to the Duke's surprise, and glared at Charles from between.

"Out, the door," he mouthed wordlessly as he furiously pointed towards the front entrance to his room. Charles glanced back at the door before giving Erik one last look. Then the legs closed, and Charles slowly rose as Erik began singing the last few lines of the song.

"~I hope you don't mind …I hope you don't mind… that I put down in words,~" he murmured as he too drifted up, his hands gliding over the Duke's chest and wrapping around his shoulders.

"~How wonderful life is, now you're in the world~"

Erik's eyes flicked over the Duke's shoulders to meet Charles' as he sang the last few words, and Charles shivered as he backed away towards the door. The Duke was busy staring at Erik, mouth gaping and eyes shining.

"That is very beautiful," the Duke breathed, his eyes completely fixed on Erik. The feeling of _want _washed over Charles again, the same as before in the dance hall. He winced a little, finally making it to the door.

"It's from Spectacular Spectacular," Erik whispered, moving his hands up to cradle the Duke's neck.

"Suddenly with you here I finally understand the true meanings of those words. How wonderful life is now you're in the world."

Erik's voice was barely audible, his words brushing into the Duke's ear as their jawlines grazed each other. But his eyes watched Charles, who had finally made it to the door and was proceeding to open it gently. His own attentions were fixed on Erik, not on the Duke's manservant who was standing outside.

"What meaning is that, my dear?" the Duke asked, equally quiet.

Charles shut the door, accidentally slamming it and creating yet another disturbance. Erik threw himself away from the Duke with a cry, landing on the bed as Charles scuttled off to hide once again. He settled for ducking the top half of his head beneath a tapestry and burying himself in a corner.

"Don't toy with my emotions," Erik growled, sitting up to stare at the Duke.

"You must know the effect you have on men," Erik tapered off, his voice growing thick with faked emotion.

"Let's make love," the growl grew more fierce as Erik grabbed hold the Duke's jacket and pulled him down to the bed. The Duke went careening down and landed on top of Erik.

"You want to make love, don't you?" Erik said throatily as he smashed their lips together, silencing any words the Duke might have said. Glancing up to Charles who had slowly inched his way out of his hiding spot, Erik motioned wildly to head to the balcony.

"I knew you would feel the same way," he replied to the Duke's garbled sounds as Erik bucked his hips up and dragged his knee up the inside of the Duke's legs. Charles paused at the sounds he heard, and turned to glance at the bed.

Erik shot him the sharpest look he could muster, and silently screamed at Charles to get out. Charles could only stare knowingly, as the Duke made increasingly inhuman sounds and Erik's eyes nearly stabbed him a thousand times over. He sent out the smallest of thoughts, just a hint of a suggestion to Erik, who caught it immediately.

"You're right, we should wait. Until opening night," Erik choked out, pushing the Duke away slightly. Charles flashed a small grin before he hurried out the balcony to hide while Erik tried to rid himself of the Duke.

"Wait? Wait?" the Duke stammered, scrambling to balance himself above Erik's heaving chest.

"There's a power in you that scares me…you should go," Erik pushed him off and they both stood precariously, stumbling slightly to the door.

"Go? But I just got here," he protested.

"Why, we'll see each other every day during rehearsal. We must wait…we must wait, wait until opening night. Get out," Erik rambled hoarsely as he lead the Duke to the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Whirling around, he found Charles slinking out from his hiding place on the balcony.

"Do you have any idea…_any idea _what would have happened if you were found?" Erik hissed through clenched teeth, before losing his breath suddenly and shuddering as he struggled to take in air. Gasping, he fell forward into Charles arms, unconscious.

Charles staggered under the weight of the taller man, unsure of what had happened.

"Oh. Oh no. Erik?" Charles asked fearfully, shaking him a little to try and rouse him.

Erik stayed limp, and Charles glanced around as he adjusted Erik in his arms to move easier. His gaze landed on the bed, and he shuffled over to it, struggling to move Erik's lean but muscular frame with his own, not so athletic, body. A slight panic was creeping up in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away as he neared the bed.

As he made to set Erik down, the momentum carried them both to the bed, Charles landing atop Erik's prone frame. He clambered to his knees to check his vitals.

Then the door opened.

"Forgot my hat," the Duke grinned as he stepped in, before his eyes snapped to Charles. Who was currently straddling Erik. On the bed.

"Foul play?" the Duke asked, startled.

"He, ah, I, uh," Charles stammered with an explanation as Erik slowly came to and grew aware of the situation.

"Oh, Duke…" he began quietly.

"It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside."

Now the Duke was beginning to shake with anger, his face contorting in his rage while it washed over Charles in searing waves he could hardly stand. He shook his head frantically, wanting to clear up the misunderstanding.

"Beautifully spoken, Duke," Erik chimed in, before motioning to Charles. Who still had not moved from his position. Atop Erik. On the bed.

"Yes, let me introduce you to the writer."

"The writer?!"

"Yes."

Erik shoved Charles to the side as he struggled to sit up.

"Oh yes, we were ..we were rehearsing—"

"HAHAHA," the Duke cut his explanation off with a disbelieving laugh.

"You expect me to believe, scantily clad in the arms of another man, in the middle of the night, inside an elephant, you were rehearsing?!" he exclaimed furiously.

"HOW IS THE REHEARSAL GOING?" Beaubier suddenly appeared on the balcony, beaming at everyone while the rest of the group clambered after him.

"Shall we take it from the top, eh, my queen?"

"I hope the piano's in tune!"

"Sorry! Must be done!"

"Can I offer you a drink?"

The Duke was staring at everyone who was acting in a flurry of motion to appear busy. Erik caught his attention again, waving his hands as he explained. Sort of. A little bit. Not really.

"When I spoke those words to you, before you, you filled me with such inspiration…yes, I realized how much work he had to do before tomorrow, so I called everyone together for an emergency rehearsal."

He and the Duke stared each other down for a moment, before the Duke cleared his throat.

"If you're rehearsing, where's Stryker?"

The door burst open once again that evening, Stryker barreling through as he tried to intervene on what he thought to be a catastrophic meeting.

"My dearest Duke, I'm most terribly sorry—"

"Stryker, you made it! It's all right, the Duke knows all about the EMERGENCY REHEARSAL."

Erik's eyes bore holes into Stryker's as he tried to convey the charade they had begun.

"Emergency rehearsal?"

"Yes, to incorporate the Duke's artistic ideas."

The Duke bowed, still not entirely convinced but Charles nudged him towards accepting their ploy.

"Yes, well, I'm sure Audrey will be willing to delight—"

"Audrey has already left," Beaubier interrupted Stryker, and was quickly cut off by Erik.

"Well, William, the cat's out of the bag. Yes, the Duke's already a big fan of our new writer's work. That is why he is so keen to invest." Erik's smile was so forced Charles feared it would snap his face.

"Invest? INVEST! Invest, yes invest. Well, you can hardly blame me for trying hide…("Charles," Beaubier muttered) …Charles away," Stryker called out excitedly, catching on finally.

"I'm way ahead of you, Stryker," the Duke drawled.

"My dear Duke, why don't you and I go up to my office to peruse the paperwork?"

"What's the story?" he asked suddenly.

"Story?" Stryker asked, confused.

"Well, if I'm to invest I need to know the story."

"Ah yes. Well the story is about….Beaubier."

All the heads in the room swivel to him. He chuckles nervously, trying to figure out what to say.

"The story, it's uh, it's about, hah, it's—"

"It's about love!" Charles jumps in. He knows where he wants this to go. But how to get there?

"Love?" the Duke asks, unconvinced.

"It's about love, overcoming all obstacles." He gave a small smile to Erik, who locked eyes with him.

"And it's set in Switzerland!" Beaubier exclaimed excitedly.

"Switzerland?" Another tone of discontent.

"Exotic Switzerland!" Stryker tried to push the locale.

"Arabia. ARABIA. IT'S SET IN ARABIA," Charles nearly screamed to be heard. Everyone looked at him, and he knew he had their attention. His voice dropped to a softer decibel.

"And there's a prince. The most handsome and kingly prince in all the world." An even bigger smile started to blossom on Charles' face as the story poured forth, and Erik listened, his eyes betraying his interest in the personal aspect of their story.

"But his kingdom is invaded by an evil neighboring Shah."

Charles turns to the Duke as he spits out the words, his eyebrows knitting in a glare.

"Now, in order to save his kingdom, the prince must obey the Shah while the Shah takes him and molds him into the perfect heir, a monster and a lover. But on the night of the agreed upon meeting, he mistakes a penniless wr-" he glances around for inspiration "-a penniless gypsy dressed like a Shah and he falls in love with him!"

Now Erik is just smirking, waiting to see how Charles will explain that part of their evening together.

"He wasn't trying to trick the Prince or anything, but he was dressed as a Shah because he was appearing in a performance in the town bazaar—"

"I WILL PLAY THE PENNILESS GYPSY!" Marko called out, rushing forward to grab the Tarot cards Charles had been holding while explaining the gypsy.

"Yes, well, then, then what happens next?" the Duke asked, starting to become intrigued by this story he had just barely missed earlier in the evening.

"The penniless gypsy and the Prince have to hide their love from the evil Shah—"

"And the gypsy's talking tarot cards can only reveal the truth!" Cassidy chimes in.

"And I will be the tarot cards," Beaubier offers, circling the room with his honest observations.

"They give the game away, eh?" the Duke offers for his input.

Everyone seems excited by this proposition, clapping and hopping in glee. Then the can can is mentioned, but before Charles can try and explain it into the story, Stryker shoves him away.

"It's an erotic spectacular scene the captures the thrusting, violent, vibrant, wild, Bohemian spirit that this whole production embodies, Duke."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean the show will be a magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan bedazzlement, a sensual ravishment, it will beeeeeeee…Spectacular, Spectacular."

He circled the Duke, a song starting to ripple through the room.

"~No words in the vernacular, can describe this great event, you'll be dumb with wonderment.~"

The rest of the group suddenly began scrambling around for props to create a makeshift stage, and play, as best they could, the story Charles had woven for them. Sitting in front of the curtain, Charles watches as Marko and Erik play the parts he crafted, but he's the one who controls their lives.

"~The kingly prince and gypsy man, Are pulled apart by an evil plan. But in the end he hears their song, And their love is just too strooooooong.~"

At this tender moment, Erik and Charles exchange a glance, Charles hoping that Erik can feel what he's feeling in that instant, that he isn't the only one whose emotions are a boiling pot of confusion in his stomach.

And then the Duke adds his own contribution.

"~It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside….~" he sings in a sickly tune with waggling eyebrows.

Charles continues with the story.

"Gypsy man's future song, Helps them flee the evil one. Though the tyrant rants and rails, it is all to no avail.~"

"I AM THE EVIL SHAH!" Stryker cries, a scarf hastily wrapped about his head like a turban.

"Oh, Stryker, no one could play him like you could!" Erik notes, and Stryker heartily agrees.

"~So delighting—!"

"And in the end, should someone die?" the Duke asks suddenly.

They all look at each other and go in for the finale, singing at the stop of their lungs as they swarm the Duke, lifting his chair and spinning before landing in the final pose.

"Generally, I like it," the Duke nods, and everyone cheers ecstatically.

Stryker had an investor, and the Bohemians had a show.

There were parties up and down the halls of the building, and try as he might, Charles could not bring himself to type a single word of the play.

All he could think about was his prince.


End file.
